


prove it

by compendiary



Category: GOT7
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-22
Updated: 2017-08-22
Packaged: 2018-12-18 16:14:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11878140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/compendiary/pseuds/compendiary
Summary: got7 disband after seven years together. mark and jackson start a relationship secretly without telling anybody because 1. the media are bothersome, and 2. it’s none of anyone else’s business. they eventually realise that they have to tell some people, though.





	prove it

Mark is pushing past the busy staff rushing about Jinyoung’s dressing room. The security at the back entrance let him by easily, recognising him because he frequently visits Jinyoung whenever he holds shows in Seoul, but the staff backstage don’t even see him, being too occupied with their jobs.

He finds Jinyoung’s dressing room easily because it has a huge “Park Jinyoung” sign taped onto the door, written crudely in Jinyoung’s own handwriting with a permanent marker. He knocks twice, not waiting for a response, before making his way in.

Jinyoung is dressed in a flashy outfit of a sparkly mauve tuxedo, and his eyes are trained to his feet as he adjusts his earpiece. He looks up when he hears Mark walk in, and he groans about how the in-ear monitor won’t sit right, not bothering to greet Mark formally.

“Hello to you, too,” Mark mutters, walking over to help him with it. “Is that better?”

Jinyoung sighs, stepping back from him. “You’re not the latest today.”

Mark takes a look around the room. Jinyoung is only going to be using it for two nights, but the place is already littered with his belongings. A clothing rack of outfits sits behind the large mirrors, and the makeup products he uses are scattered haphazardly over the dressing table. The sofa is empty. Mark expected to see Yugyeom sat there.

“Is Jackson coming?” Jinyoung asks, twisting open a bottle of mineral water. It’s his ritual before performing. He downs a whole bottle of Evian to calm his nerves.

“I don’t know,” Mark replies. He doesn’t. Not really. Jackson didn’t mention it this morning before he left the house.

Right on timing, there’s a casual knock on the door and Jackson’s head peeks in. He has a navy baseball cap on, and he laughs when he sees what Jinyoung is wearing. “Hello there, ringmaster!” Jackson yells, kicking the door closed behind him when he enters the room. “What’s the first circus performance today?”

Jinyoung scoffs, flipping Jackson the bird just as he finishes his water. “Nice to see you, too,” he snaps.

Mark watches as Jackson nudges Jinyoung a few times in the ribs with his elbow, continuing to tease him for his outfit. Mark doesn’t acknowledge him, and Jackson doesn’t address him either.

Jackson only saunters over next to him when the stage manager hurries in to give Jinyoung the five-minute notice to get into position, and he gives Jinyoung a thumbs up with a wink.

“Break a leg,” Mark says in English, giving Jinyoung two thumbs up, his arms brushing against Jackson’s when he does so.

“Get the staff to lead you to your seats,” Jinyoung tells them with a nod. “And you should really try to come by earlier next time, the guys are already seated outside.”

“I was busy,” Jackson whines, linking his arm with Mark’s. “You don’t give Mark shit whenever he’s late.”

Jinyoung rolls his eyes, already being led away by the stage manager who has a firm grasp on both his shoulders. “Just go outside.”

When Jinyoung is finally out of the room, Jackson turns to give Mark a look. Mark can’t quite understand it. “What?” Mark asks, pursing his lips as he notes how their arms are still intertwined.

Jackson doesn’t say anything, and instead presses a kiss to his cheek. It’s chaste and gentle. “Did you miss me today?”

There isn’t a handbook for this, Mark thinks, about having to hide a relationship from not only the general public, but the people who have always been by his side. There’s a certain thrill about sharing this secret only with Jackson — they carry themselves with calculated moves, and they pay attention to minute details others would otherwise miss. In a way, it’s like playing a game of chess.

They don’t talk about it, keeping their relationship hush-hush. Mark doesn’t bring it up, and Jackson never mentions it. They’re the typical couple behind closed doors; they share lazy kisses in bed and make microwavable dinners together for breakfast in the morning. Their relationship is perfect as it is in its current state, and Mark supposes that there’s really no reason to flaunt it.

Mark continues pressing his lips together to stop himself from smiling. “No,” he states.

Jackson opens his mouth to argue, but a staff member knocks on the door. They instinctively step away from each other. “Come in,” Jackson says, giving Mark’s hand a squeeze before the door opens.

The staff member gestures for them to follow her to their seats, urging them to be quick so they don’t miss Jinyoung’s introductory song of the night. Jackson walks behind her, but not before sparing Mark a quick glance to make sure that he’s following close behind him.

Jaebum and Yugyeom are already seated in the VIP section when Mark and Jackson arrive. The two men wave at them casually as they take their seats. “Did you come together?” Yugyeom asks, putting his phone down just as the lights dim.

The audience screams in anticipation for Jinyoung’s grand entrance. Mark takes the light stick from Yugyeom’s lap to wave it around in the air. The familiar vibrations from the bass of the music drift in pulses from the speakers not far from their area.

“No,” Jackson leans over Mark to shout into Yugyeom’s ear. “I had to record a show.”

Yugyeom nods. “Jaebum- _hyung_ and I met with Jinyoung- _hyung_ an hour ago,” he says, looking between Mark and Jackson. “We thought you were coming together!”

Mark shrugs. “He didn’t tell me he was coming.”

The concert is over two hours long, but the four of them meet up with Jinyoung backstage after to congratulate him on his amazing performance. He sang and dance just as well as he did back when he was in his early twenties, and sometimes Mark misses the feeling of performing alongside him. Performing onstage is all a distant memory to Mark now.

“Bambam told me to give you the tickets to his show at the end of the month,” Jaebum suddenly says, holding out two passes that say ‘VVIP’ on them in Mark’s direction.

“Two?”

Jaebum nods his head in Jinyoung’s direction — Jinyoung is at the far end of the dressing room, clad in a t-shirt with his concert’s logo on it, talking to Jackson who is right beside him. Jackson is rummaging through a box, presumably looking for a shirt in his size. “One for you, one for Jackson,” Jaebum explains.

Mark furrows his eyebrows, stuffing the tickets into his back pocket. “Jackson’s not that far off, you could’ve passed it to him yourself.”

“I thought you’d be going together. You live pretty close to each other now.”

Mark shrugs noncommittally. “Right.”

Mark opts to skip the celebratory round of drinks Jinyoung offers because Jinyoung has another show scheduled tomorrow night, and he knows that Jinyoung is only hosting an afterparty for their sake. The rest of them also turn down Jinyoung’s invitation, and Jinyoung shakes his head in disappointment. He thanks them for coming to see him anyway.

Just as Mark is about to step out of the concert venue (through the backdoor, to ensure nobody can swarm him), Jackson slides past him, turning around after he’s five steps ahead to flash Mark a grin. “Home?” he says, and it’s enough for Mark to understand what he’s asking.

“Which one?” Mark is conscious of people overhearing them, but they’re the only two people in the carpark so he dares to speak up.

“Home,” Jackson states, simply.

Mark makes an ‘okay’ sign with his fingers, then proceeds to jog towards his car.

—

It’s difficult to not touch each other when they’re together. Mark craves the warmth that only Jackson’s body can provide. There’s a familiarity that comes with the heat that Jackson emits — Mark has noticed that it’s different from anyone else’s. His body’s basal temperature is something that Mark’s senses have committed to memory.

Here, back in their own little bubble, everything is easier. Mark likes the feeling of waking up to Jackson’s leg hooked over his, and the sleepy look in Jackson’s eyes whenever Mark takes a fistful of his shirt to coax him to come closer. They can cling onto each other as much as they like to and be themselves unapologetically.

Mark has thought about telling some people. Their family, maybe, and their friends. He doesn’t doubt that they would feel happy for them. However, the thought of _announcing_ it makes the whole thing sound more cathartic than it actually is.

Although Mark left the entertainment circle directly after GOT7 disbanded, Jackson stayed a celebrity through his countless offers from variety show producers. Jackson is a household name in both South Korea and China now, even more so than when he was a boyband member two years ago.

Mark isn’t as famous as Jackson is anymore, so the thought of being thrown back into the media like bait to sharks is daunting, because surely news will travel fast if they stop watching how they act around each other in the public eye. And it’s not like their relationship is up for anyone else to comment on.

With all those points in mind, Mark still can’t help but wonder if letting people know isn’t as bad as he thinks it will be. Those issues are almost insignificant. It might be his selfishness speaking, but he wants to be able to touch Jackson whenever he wants to, without considering the consequences.

But if what they are shouldn’t concern anyone else, Mark knows that he should just let it go.

—

Mark takes Jackson with him to Bambam’s show. The event is hosted at a five-star hotel, with the largest ballroom refurnished and arranged into an unconventional runway. The weather outside is still the blazing heat of summer in July, but the venue is decorated in an industrial manner that looks moody and dark.

It hasn’t been long since Bambam started selling his designs of luxury apparel under the brand of ‘Double B’. The fashion show this late afternoon is to showcase his new collection for the seasons of autumn and winter. They meet Bambam backstage a half hour before the show is due to start, and the designer shows them his favourite pieces from the gallery.

“You have to look out for this fur coat,” Bambam exclaims, running his fingers through the thick brown fur of the coat hanging on the rack behind him. He’s surprisingly calm for someone hosting his first major event. “I’m so proud of it. It screams ‘high class’.”

Jackson rolls his eyes, taking Bambam’s decorative walking cane from him. The knob of the cane is covered with Swarovski crystals, and it looks absolutely ridiculous. “You’re still trying to make the pimp cane a thing?” Jackson teases, swinging it around in his hand.

Bambam snorts in amusement. “Of course.”

Mark watches as Jackson lifts the cane and attempts to poke Bambam with it from a distance. It’s been two years since the disbandment of their boyband, and even though Jackson and Bambam don’t meet often, they still act like childish brothers whenever they do meet.

Bambam shoos them outside when he realises he has to give the models a last look-over before the show begins. Mark unconsciously wants to hold Jackson’s hand, already reaching for it, but just as their fingertips brush, he draws his hand back.

“Sorry,” he says, rubbing his fingers together.

Jackson raises an eyebrow for a moment, pausing in his steps, but takes hold of Mark’s wrist lightly as he guides them towards a supply closet. Jackson opens the door, looking to see that it can fit the both of them before pulling Mark into the room with him and shutting the door.

“What are you doing?” Mark asks, bewildered. He can barely see Jackson with how dark the closet is. What he assumes is a broom is poking him in his back, making him uncomfortable.

Jackson doesn’t respond to his question verbally, and instead Mark finds Jackson’s lips pressed onto his in a fervent manner. Jackson’s hand finds its way into Mark’s hair, and Mark feels him gently tug at the hair as they lips move together.

Mark instinctively moves closer towards Jackson, suddenly finding the cramped closet much too big. He bites Jackson’s bottom lip softly as he presses into the side of Jackson’s neck with his thumb. “Stop, we’re going to be late,” he whispers, feeling his lips touch Jackson’s once more as he speaks.

He can feel Jackson’s grin against his mouth. “So?”

Their kisses are passionate and heated, and Mark forgets that they’re backstage at a fashion show until he hears the hustle and bustle outside. He slides his hand down Jackson’s neck, over his shoulder, and slowly runs it down Jackson’s chest before stopping in the centre. He breaks their kiss, his breathing uneven as he pushes Jackson away from him to stop himself from kissing Jackson again.

Jackson leans backwards slightly to comb Mark’s hair back into place. “Isn’t it ironic?” he muses.

“What is?”

“We’re going to be coming out of the closet later,” Jackson states, cracking the door open to peek out of it. “This is a coming-of-age teen movie in the making.”

Mark splutters with laughter, letting Jackson lead him outside when he deems the coast clear. The brightness from the lights hurts his eyes when he first steps out of the dark closet.

“We just made out in a closet, who says romance is dead?” Jackson says into Mark’s ear right before they find their seats next to the runway.

Yugyeom waves at them from a distance, obliviously. “You came together this time?” Yugyeom yells.

Jackson nods on Mark’s behalf, and just as he moves to take a seat next to Yugyeom, he gives Mark a firm squeeze on his arm.

Mark wonders why this is wrong when it feels so _right_.

—

Mark still fantasises about it, moving in with Jackson. Permanently. They spend most of their time here anyway, in Jackson’s bungalow instead of Mark’s penthouse because there’s more space so it feels more homely.

No one really questions why Mark is always around whenever they visit Jackson’s house. Jackson’s parents have joked that Mark might as well move in if he’s going to stay over so often (Mark stays in one of the guest rooms whenever Jackson’s parents visit), and Mark only ever chuckles a bit in response.

Youngjae doesn’t find it out of the ordinary whenever Mark tells him to bring Coco, their shared dog, to Jackson’s house so Mark can see her. Coco even has her own dog pen in the corner of one of Jackson’s many living areas. It’s equipped with toys, a fluffy dog cushion, and absorbent pads that Mark still can’t train her to use whenever she does her business.

Coco is comfortable enough to only mark her territory in the same few areas of Jackson’s house, so Mark knows that she takes Jackson’s house as her second home to Youngjae’s place.

“Do you ever think about _this_?” Mark asks as he watches Coco totter around the carpet, praying that she won’t decide to take a dump on it. He turns to look at Jackson, who has his head buried in papers in his seat at the dining table.

“Hmm?” Jackson hums in question. “What do you mean?”

“Like, what we are.”

Jackson looks up, blinking a few times as he takes in Mark’s question. “We are two men in a loving, committed relationship. What is there to think about?”

Mark crawls over to pick Coco up with one hand, cradling her in his arms after like a baby. It surprises him how she’s so small for a fully-grown dog. “What do I tell Youngjae if he asks, you know? Like, about this. About us.”

“Youngjae asked?”

“No.”

Jackson scrunches up his nose in confusion, pushing his scripts aside as he stands up to walk towards where Mark is seated on the carpet, still holding Coco. “What’s all of this about, then?” He plops himself down next to Mark, lying down and resting his head in Mark’s lap.

Mark tries not to look down at him as he continues talking. “I…” Mark starts, stroking Coco’s tiny head with his index finger. “I don’t know why we aren’t telling anyone.”

When Mark does lower his head to look Jackson in the eyes, Jackson has a small smirk plastered on his face. “Mark Tuan wants to declare his undying love for me to everyone he knows, I see.”

“That’s not it!” Mark argues, putting Coco down next to him so she can run free. “I just want to know where we stand.”

“I love you, and you love me.”

“I know,” Mark pauses, watching as Jackson’s facial features soften into an expression of fondness. “I just wish I could let my family know that I’ve found someone I love.”

Jackson raises an arm and cups Mark’s cheek with his hand, stroking his cheek with his thumb. “And you can. Who said you couldn’t?” Jackson looks earnest, his eyes slightly lidded from this angle, and an edge of his lips quirked upwards in a small smile.

Mark would be lying if he says the expression on Jackson’s face doesn’t make his heart race. “What about our friends?”

“Just kiss me in front of them and see what they say.”

“But, your job…” Mark trails off as Jackson holds his index finger towards his lips.

Jackson sits up and rests both his hands on Mark’s shoulders. “I love you, and that’s all that matters to me,” Jackson begins, his grasp of Mark’s shoulders firm and steady. “It’s not like I’m still an ‘idol’ or whatever. I might be a public figure but what does it change if people know that we’re together? If you want to tell our friends, we will. If people curse at us, let them.”

Mark sighs. “I know, but…”

“My love for you will overcome any and everything thrown our way. Do you believe me?”

Mark does. Mark believes in Jackson more than he believes in himself. “Yes,” he breathes out. Before he can continue voicing out his contradictory internal argument, Jackson pulls him in for a kiss by the back of his head.

Their noses bump against each other, and Mark feels Jackson’s lips against his — soft, gentle, and expressing everything words can’t. Mark rests his forehead against Jackson’s when they break apart, and there’s a look in Jackson’s eyes that lets him know that he’s certain.

Come what may, Mark can trust Jackson in every way.

“I love you,” Mark says, almost a whisper. He can feel Jackson’s breath hitch as he speaks. “I love you.”

Jackson tilts his head to a side, pressing a kiss onto the angle of Mark’s jaw. “I love you,” he says back, and that’s all Mark really needed to hear.

* * *

This is how it starts to start:

GOT7 decide collectively to disband at the end of winter, exactly seven years after their debut in 2014. The year is 2021, and Mark is 28-years-old and freshly out of a job. He takes a year off to himself, flying halfway across the globe to spend time unwinding back home in California. He sells his property in Seoul, not expecting to come back.

But he does.

Mark returns after a year away, realising that South Korea has become every part his home as the Tuan mansion back in the United States. It’s not as much of an identity crisis as it is more of him coming to terms with the fact that Korean culture will always be a part of him. Growing up in a Western country, he never learnt much about being Chinese, but after spending his years in Seoul, he’s subtly become part-Korean.

The other six men he had spent a big chunk of his life with touring around the world are still his friends, and they’re more than happy to hear that he decided to come back. After all of this, with only a year away from entering his thirties, Mark is unemployed but still getting by.

Jaebum is a hot-shot music producer now, never appearing onscreen and choosing instead to work behind the scenes. Jinyoung remains famous as both an actor and a singer, and his multitalented self only avoids variety shows because of his introversion. Youngjae is a solo artist, well-known for his many chart-topping original soundtracks for Korean dramas.

Bambam frequents between South Korea and Thailand, working to launch a fashion label in his own name that will be made in Bangkok, but have a touch of Seoul in the designs. Yugyeom is primarily based back in his hometown of Namyangju, working to expand a family business to every corner of the country.

Of all his ex-boyband members, Mark would say that he still talks to Youngjae the most, because he tries to co-parent their dog together to the best of his ability. Jinyoung is also one of the guys that he contacts every now and then, and they still share deep conversations together to this day.

Jackson, on the other hand, is now a popular television host. Mark doesn’t talk to him much because he’s always busy, but Jackson still makes an effort to send him text messages occasionally to ask if he’s doing alright. Mark lets him know about his predicament on where he should buy a house now that he’s planning to live in Seoul for the long-term, and Jackson sends him a whole list of contact numbers for realtors.

Mark talks to one of them, and ends up buying a penthouse just slightly on the outskirts of Gangnam, not needing the convenience of getting into the heart of the city now that he’s sort of in retirement-mood. The large glass panels in the living area give a remarkable view of the cityscape, especially at night when streetlights and buildings are lit up at full brightness.

His apartment ends up being close to Jackson’s property. Mark didn’t think that Jackson would be living away from the city centre, considering that he probably has to commute to recording studios, the airport, and whatnot quite frequently. Jackson invites him to his house one night when he’s actually back in Seoul, fresh off the plane from Beijing, and Mark realises that he hasn’t seen him in awhile.

The last time he met up with Jackson was almost seven months back when Jackson dropped by Los Angeles to record a show. They grabbed a cup of iced coffee together before Jackson had to hurry back to continue with filming.

There’s not much small talk, with Jackson being familiar with Mark’s personality so he doesn’t push to fill the silences. Mark can tell Jackson is exhausted from his long trip, and asks if he has another event scheduled for tomorrow.

“No, I’m all clear,” Jackson replies, his arms stretched out on the back of the sofa. He has both his legs propped up on his glass coffee table, and a pair of silly socks with cartoon ducks on his feet. “What have you been up to recently?”

Mark shrugs, taking a swig from his can of beer. “I don’t know, really,” he answers honestly. “I’ve been meaning to get back into the recording studio to produce, but I don’t know if I’m Defsoul material, if you get what I mean.”

Jackson laughs. “Ghostwrite,” he suggests. “Or produce under a pseudonym. Nobody will be the wiser.”

Mark has considered writing under another name instead of Mark Tuan, maybe something ambiguous like MC MT. He’s always enjoyed the creative process of being a performing artist instead of the actual moment of appearing under the spotlight. He’s drafted out a few rough melodies back when he was in L.A., meaning to experiment in the studio when he first got the chance to.

He doesn’t know if he’ll be successful, though.

“You think?” Mark asks, tracing the edge of the beer can with his finger.

“I don’t think,” Jackson firmly replies. “I know. Go for it. You’ll do great.”

Jackson only has the time to meet Mark a couple of months later, and Mark lets him listen to the first demo track he produced when he fooled around in the studio a few weeks ago. Jackson likes it, and makes him promise to send him more songs to listen to.

Mark doesn’t argue, and subsequently shows him every other demo he makes. Sometimes he even leaves Jackson voice notes of himself humming a tune, something of a reminder to himself of the bursts of inspiration he gets. Instead of keeping them in his phone’s memory for future reference, Mark sends them to Jackson for safekeeping.

Whenever he asks Jackson about a melody that goes so-and-so, Jackson will reply with a voice note of himself humming the tune back for Mark, asking if it’s the correct one.

And Jackson always gets it right, to Mark’s delight.

—

Jackson makes it a habit to meet Mark every time he gets off a plane in Seoul, be it at 4am or 4pm. Mark doesn’t particularly mind — he loves the company. He’s one of the only people in his group of friends who doesn’t have a stable job, or any responsibilities, really. He has a lot of time on his hands, and he spends most of it sleeping, so Jackson’s invitations at odd hours of the morning aren’t interrupting much for him.

In fact, Mark worries that Jackson is the one who’ll be exhausted. They pass time in the comfort of Jackson’s apartment, the house becoming their safe haven. Mark doesn’t use social media as often as he used to, choosing to lay low and keep his public exposure at the bare minimum; Jackson is active on multiple online platforms, but he doesn’t divulge information of their meetings anywhere. All the time they spend together is kept to themselves only.

It soon becomes a routine, and Mark starts finding himself missing Jackson’s voice whenever he’s away. It’s different, because he’s never felt this way about any of his other friends. Jinyoung embarked on a world tour two weeks ago and is currently in Singapore, but Mark doesn’t miss Jinyoung the way he does Jackson.

Jackson is away in Southeast Asia filming a travel programme, so he hasn’t been back in Seoul for close to a month. He calls Mark every other day, complaining about the bad reception and how he has to walk for hours on end in the daylight to get the best cinematic shots. His voice always sounds clipped at first, annoyed, but then it gradually softens as he continues talking to Mark.

Mark lets himself smile when he hears the familiar sound of Jackson’s whining in irritation that his manager is telling him to hang up to do another take of a scene. He misses Jackson — not just his voice, if he’s honest. He misses Jackson’s eyes, the way they light up whenever he’s excited; Jackson’s hands, the weight of Jackson’s palm as it rest on Mark’s thigh.

He misses Jackson’s person just being there.

“I can’t talk anymore, I have to go,” Jackson mumbles, peeved.

“Mmhm,” Mark hums. He’s not ready for Jackson to hang up, but he knows that he should let Jackson get back to work, so he doesn’t say anything else.

“I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Mark purses his lips and shakes his head. “Just focus on filming.”

“I’m coming back in a week, I really need some _galbitang_ ,” Jackson says, sighing. “There’s a really good restaurant near Incheon, should we go there after I land?”

“Okay,” Mark agrees. “Now get off the phone before you get scolded again.”

The call ends by force as Mark hears Jackson’s shout when his phone is presumably yanked from his hands and promptly turned off. Mark chuckles, lowering his own phone and staring at the large expanse of city from his windows.

The world suddenly feels a lot bigger than Mark once thought it was. Although Jackson is only miles away in numerical form, the distance feels so much greater in person.

—

When Jackson finally has a break that he promises will last longer than a day, he asks Mark to pack an overnight bag to his place so they can drink wine and brainstorm music compositions throughout the night. Mark takes a baggy t-shirt that will serve as his pyjamas, and throws on a pair of loose sweatpants before leaving his apartment. He forgets his toiletries, and most importantly, his toothbrush.

Jackson passes him a new toothbrush with charcoal bristles, telling him to leave it in the toothbrush holder so that he can use it any time he stays over. Mark’s black toothbrush sits right next to Jackson’s blue one, and it looks awfully familiar.

Mark ends up sleeping over more and more often. The toothbrush in Jackson’s house starts being used more frequently than Mark’s own one back home.

It doesn’t help that Mark doesn’t sleep in the guest room regularly, and instead usually falls asleep either on the sofa, with Jackson right beside him, or on Jackson’s bed as they discuss lyrics for the music they compose.

Mark can tell that their relationship is changing.

Back when they were trainees in their teens, they used to rely on each other’s friendship to get a taste of home. They shared a common language, Mandarin. Although Mark can’t speak it very well himself, hearing Jackson’s mumblings in Chinese filled his heart with warmth and familiarity, reminding him of his parents back in L.A.

Now, they don’t need to count on each other for the feeling of home anymore, because wherever they are together starts to actually _become_ home.

As he watches Jackson’s sleeping figure on the far side of the king-sized bed, Mark can’t seem to still the rapid beating of his heart.

* * *

Or maybe this is how it starts:

Jackson has to go to Taiwan to guest on a show, and he asks Mark to come with him. Mark hasn’t been to Taiwan in years, because he doesn’t know the extended family he has there very well. Jackson tells him to just accompany him, with no pressure on Mark’s end to do anything. He reasons that his hotel room will be empty for the majority of the day anyway, so if Mark decides to sit out on sightseeing, he can always lounge around in the room.

Mark agrees, deciding that it would be a nice short trip since he doesn’t have anything else on his agenda for the next five days. He was supposed to meet up with Jaebum to get help with polishing some songs up in the studio, but that can wait for later. Jaebum will understand.

They haven’t travelled together for over a year now, and returning to being mobbed by fans at the airports feels foreign to Mark. Granted that all of the people gathered are there for Jackson and that Mark’s identity is hidden very well by his cap, sunglasses, and face mask, there’s still a strange sense of nostalgia that washes over him. He has to push past the crowd, lowering his head to avoid being recognised.

Jackson lets him walk first, shielding his back. When they finally get past the immigration counters where no fans are in view anymore, Mark exhales a breath that he didn’t know he was holding. He’s acutely aware that they’re back to where they started — Jackson and him always spent their time at airports together back when GOT7 travelled as a group.

“It’s weird, isn’t it?” Jackson asks, smoothing the material of Mark’s jacket at the shoulders with his hands, as if he’s taking away all the stress he thinks Mark endured with the walk past his fans.

“What is?”

Jackson flashes him a grin, reaching up to pull Mark’s mask down to his chin. “We haven’t done this in awhile. Travelling together.”

Mark takes off his sunglasses and hangs it on the collar of his shirt. “I remember always having to look for you to pass immigration a lot,” he recalls. “With Bambam. The ‘foreign passport’ gang.”

Jackson nods. “Your memory fails you, because _I_ was the one who always looked for _you_.”

“Yeah, right.”

It’s easy, being Jackson’s travel buddy. Everything is arranged to the last detail by Jackson’s manager, who even asks if Mark wants a hotel room of his own. Jackson’s parents sometimes follow him on trips around China, so the staff are used to making extra arrangements on Jackson’s behalf.

“No, he’ll stay in my suite, I’ll be filming the whole day,” Jackson interrupts his manager to say. “That’s cool with you, Mark?”

Mark doesn’t argue. He’s not particularly fond of being cooped up in a hotel room alone anyway. Jackson has a presidential suite at that, so he’s not about to pass up eating the snacks from the mini bar that will get charged to Jackson’s tab.

They arrive in the hotel in the late afternoon, but Jackson has to set off for an interview directly after putting his bags down. Mark waves him away, giving him a thumbs up.

“I’ll let you know if I go out,” Mark promises, already lying down on the pristine white bedsheets.

Jackson throws him a pointed look, letting Mark know that he’s well aware that Mark won’t leave the confines of the suite anytime soon.

True to Jackson’s prediction, Mark doesn’t leave the hotel room that day. He takes a long bath, then spends the rest of the night watching random programmes on the television and getting food delivered by room service. He’s almost done with his pavlova dessert when Jackson walks in, rubbing at his eyes with the back of his hand.

“Someone’s living the high life,” Jackson comments, yawning. His hair is messy, probably from being ruffled one too many times, as Jackson always does whenever he’s working. “I can’t wait to go to bed.”

“Wash up first.”

Jackson is looking at Mark with an expression that Mark can’t quite read. His stare lingers for a few seconds, then he smiles and makes his way to the bathroom to clean himself up. Jackson’s shower is brisk, and when he gets out, he attempts to talk while he brushes his teeth. “Did you do anything today?”

“No,” Mark replies, putting his plates aside. He goes and joins Jackson next to the sink, picking his toothbrush up so he can get ready for bed, too. He watches Jackson from the mirror. “I might go to _Ximending_ tomorrow.”

Jackson hums, spitting the foam from the toothpaste in his mouth into the sink. He rinses, just as Mark begins to brush. “I have something going on until 2, I can join you after that if you want.”

Mark brushes his teeth quickly, nodding. “That’ll be nice,” he says with a mouthful of foam.

They crawl into bed together lazily, and Jackson fiddles with his phone for a few more minutes before turning off the bedside lamp. He keeps to his side of the bed, turning to face Mark in the darkness.

Mark’s eyes blink slowly as he feels his eyelids droop with sleep. “Remember when we used to share a room?” he whispers softly, tucking his hands under his cheek as he adjusts himself into a foetal position. The duvet is thick and warm.

“You were a terrible roommate,” Jackson chides, suddenly very much awake. “You never responded whenever I tried to talk to you before bed.”

Mark hums in agreement.

“See? You’re not talking to me now.”

Mark doesn’t feel pressured to reply, still, and only offers Jackson a lazy grin. He thinks Jackson notices it, because Jackson reaches over to stroke his hair lightly. The last thing Mark remembers is Jackson’s eyes, his gaze warm and soft, watching him as he slowly falls asleep.

* * *

This is most likely how it starts:

Jackson’s parents take a week off to visit him in Seoul, and Jackson doesn’t think it’s of any gravity that he has to let Mark know beforehand. Mark gets surprised one morning by the combination lock on the door making a ‘click’, signalling that someone with the passcode is going to walk through the door.

Mark throws Jackson a look, a mix of confusion and worry, but Jackson only leans over to pat him on the shoulder before standing up from the sofa to walk towards the corridor.

“Daddy, mummy,” Jackson calls, sauntering towards his parents. Mark hears the whirl of luggage wheels against the parquet. “You’re here!”

Mark gets up from his seat quickly, darting over to receive Jackson’s parents. It’d be rude of him to wait until they find him in the living room to greet them. “Uncle, auntie!” he says, louder than he anticipated his voice to sound. “Hey, it’s me, Mark.”

He’s met Jackson’s parents before. Heck, he’s taken a trip back to Jackson’s family home in Hong Kong before many years ago, so he’s met all of Jackson’s immediate family. He hasn’t seen Mr. and Mrs. Wang in years, though, given that he hasn’t travelled to China with Jackson in awhile. They look a little older now, but not by much.

Mrs. Wang gasps in excitement, opening her arms wide to envelop Mark into a tight hug. “ _Yien_!” she calls, giving him a kiss on his forehead. “I haven’t seen you in such a long time,” she says in Mandarin, stepping back to admire Mark in all his pyjama-clad glory.

Mark feels embarrassed, and he watches as Jackson beams at him while taking the suitcases off his father’s hands. “How was the plane ride, auntie? Is your back feeling any better now?” Mark asks, recalling that Jackson’s mother could never take long plane rides because of an injury to her back.

Mrs. Wang is far more interested in Mark, so she ignores his question completely and instead showers him with praises. “You’re still so handsome, and your skin is so good,” she gushes, taking Mark by the arm and leading him towards the kitchen. “But you look so skinny! I’ll cook you something good to eat. I’ll make the Shanghainese dish you liked the last time I cooked for you.”

“Mummy, make me _dipang_ ,” Jackson requests, moving the bags up the stairs. “Don’t just make what Mark likes!”

Mark doesn’t know how to answer when Mrs. Wang asks him about what he was doing with Jackson before they arrived. Nothing? That doesn’t sound right, although it is the truth. He just mostly lies around and occasionally watches as Jackson reviews scripts from work. Most of the time they sit down together but end up doing their own things, with scattered conversations carried out in between.

Boring, mundane, everyday things.

Mark stealthily attempts to divert the conversation by arguing about how she should rest after her plane ride, insisting that he will get the ingredients prepared before dinner and that she can cook for them after she’s taken a long nap.

Mrs. Wang finally agrees after Mark’s pleads in his broken-Mandarin for her to rest, and she leaves him in charge of cutting up scallions and tells him to peel some vegetables.

Jackson joins him after his parents have settled into a bedroom, and he takes a carrot from the work bench to skin it. “What did my mum say to you?” Jackson inquires, working with the peeler carefully.

“Nothing much,” Mark replies, putting the chopped scallions onto a plate. “She asked what I was doing here.”

“What did you say?”

Mark shrugs. “I don’t know what I’m doing here, so I told her to go to sleep.”

“In Mandarin?”

“Do I look like I speak Cantonese?”

Jackson laughs, setting the peeled carrot aside. “You should’ve told her that you’re here to keep me company. Plain and simple.”

There’s something about the way Jackson’s smile reaches his eyes — that tiny glint of mischievousness peeking through. Mark feels his stomach do somersaults in his abdomen. “Maybe I will,” he says, his voice soft. “You do know that my company requires payment, don’t you?”

“What? Are you an escort now?” Jackson retorts, resting his hands on his hips.

Mark scoffs, trying to stop himself from smiling. He turns away, looking for cling wrap to cover the vegetables with before putting them into the refrigerator. He rummages through an overhead cupboard, but he doesn’t find it.

Jackson passes him the cling wrap with one hand without Mark having to ask. When Mark motions to take it from him, Jackson doesn’t let go of it, choosing instead to look Mark in the eyes for no good reason. “You’re going to stay tonight, right?” he asks, and it’s a pointless question Mark knows he knows the answer to.

“Maybe.”

There’s that smile again — small, only a slight tilt of his lips at the edges, and Jackson’s eyes soften to resemble the shape of crescent moons. “I’ll get a guest room ready so you don’t have to explain yourself again.”

That is what it is, and Jackson leaves Mark with the roll of cling wrap in his hands, watching him as the figure of his back recedes into the distance.

* * *

This is definitely how they start:

Jackson invites Mark over to his house for New Year’s Eve late at night. It’s unexpected because for one, Mark assumed Jackson would be hosting an event on such an important night of the year, and two, even if Jackson didn’t have work scheduled, Mark thought he would be in Hong Kong, spending it with his parents. Jackson says he just got home after a flight from Changsha.

Mark promises to go over in awhile, deciding that he’ll take a quick shower before he drops by. He didn’t anticipate to spend New Year’s Eve with a friend, what with all of his other friends spending it working, or with their significant others and family. He was planning to spend the next few hours until the new year drinking wine and watching bad American sitcoms on his laptop until he falls asleep on his sofa.

If anyone has to upset his plan, he’s glad that it’s Jackson.

Mark arrives about 15 minutes before the new year, and he finds Jackson lounging in bed, watching a year-end music festival on the television with a countdown timer displayed on the upper right corner. There’s a bottle of red wine on the end table, and two plastic cups sitting next to it.

“Hey,” Jackson greets lazily through lidded eyes, not moving from his spot in the bed. “Took you long enough to get here.”

Mark crawls into bed next to him. “I thought you’d be busy this week.”

Jackson looks more awake now, and he sits up to uncork the wine bottle and pour some out for the both of them. “I turned down some emceeing offers because I needed to be home tonight,” he says simply, passing Mark a clear cup he fills halfway with wine. “Merlot okay?”

Mark nods. “This is fancy,” Mark holds the cup and swirls the drink in his hand.

Jackson laughs quietly to himself, downing the contents in his own plastic cup. “Only the best for us,” he jokes, raising his empty cup after. “Disposable means less clean up.”

“Delightful,” Mark quips, shaking his head.

They settle into a comfortable silence, and Mark sips the Merlot while he watches the emcees on television gather all the performers onstage for the final countdown till the new year. The last time he was on a stage like that was on the new year of 2021, coming onto two years now.

When the timer finally counts down to zero, fireworks are lit and streamers are dropped from the ceiling of the stadium, raining down like snow over the stage performers. The emcees deliver new year wishes to the audience, and Mark only yawns in response. The scripted messages are boring and pretentious.

He looks out the large windows in Jackson’s room and sees a fireworks display outside, shining brighter than the street lights down below. Jackson’s bungalow is high up a hill, and Mark can see all the other fireworks being lit up in other areas away from the neighbourhood. He passes his cup to Jackson, who sets it on the end table before looking over to watch the fireworks as well.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Jackson whispers in awe, turning off the television.

“Yeah,” Mark agrees, enjoying how the fireworks explode into patterns that look vaguely like flowers.

“When was the last time we spent a new year together?”

Mark diverts his attention to Jackson, sitting in bed next to him. Jackson is now looking back at him, his gaze unfaltering. “When we were trainees, I think.”

After GOT7 debuted, new years were spent together onstage, performing on year-end festivals just like the one that was on TV. There were never any holidays that were spent with just one person after their debut, because there were people everywhere, constantly.

“It was so long ago,” Jackson states, still looking at Mark. “My first new year away from home. We spent the night on the rooftop, talking about whether we would ever succeed, complaining about how we missed our hometowns.”

Mark remembers it all. He was so young back then, only 18-years-old. Jackson was 17, and incredibly worried about his future. They were two boys sitting on the rooftop of their dormitory building, the only two foreigners in the building who didn’t have the chance to go home, looking up at the night sky filling with fireworks in the distance.

Jackson has always been Mark’s pillar of support away from home, a lighthouse in the middle of a tumultuous ocean. Mark finds it funny how they’ve grown older since then, but they’re still the same people in essence.

Mark still needs Jackson to keep him grounded now, just like all those years ago.

Jackson’s expression as he continues looking at Mark is not unlike the one he had on his face 11 years ago on that rooftop. He looks unsure. He has his jaw clenched tight as he runs his fingers through his hair — a nervous habit.

“What is it?” Mark asks, feeling a lump at the back of his throat.

Jackson blinks a few times, watching Mark. He then leans forwards slowly, until his face is just a mere inch away from Mark’s. His gaze drops to glimpse at Mark’s lips briefly, before looking back up to meet Mark’s eyes. “Mark,” he whispers.

Mark’s heart is pounding hard against his ribcage. Jackson is incredibly close. He’s so close that if Mark just leans forward by a little bit, their lips will touch.

But this is wrong, right? Jackson is his best friend. If there was an official rule book on being friends, being this close to each other is definitely one of the huge taboos.

Mark hears his own voice waver as he speaks. “Yes?”

There’s a sort of electricity in the air. Mark wants to close the gap between them, he wants to feel Jackson’s lips against his own. But what he wants isn’t the main issue, it’s whether he _should_.

“Is this okay?” Jackson says, and Mark sees him swallow, hard.

“Yes.”

Against his better judgement, Mark closes the distance between them. He presses his lips against Jackson’s, softly, with minimal pressure. He has his eyes shut, and he thinks he might have made a huge mistake when he doesn’t feel any reciprocation. He’s about to lean back and apologise when he feels Jackson’s lips move slowly on his.

Jackson cups Mark’s face at the side of his jaw with one hand, bringing him closer. The kiss is gentle, their lips tentatively moving together, both parties nervous about taking it further.

When they break apart, Mark leans back, suddenly aware that he just kissed Jackson.

Jackson has his lips pursed, and his eyes are opened wide as his hands drop to his side. “I…” Jackson tries to start, but the words seem to catch in his throat, a contrast to his usual eloquence. He reaches down and takes Mark’s hands in his.

Mark tries to make sense of the situation, unable to stop staring into Jackson’s eyes.

Jackson’s eyes have always been a feature Mark found beautiful. They’re round, and his irises so dark. He thinks Jackson has literal puppy eyes sometimes, especially when they look just slightly wet, like right now.

Mark wants to say something. _Anything_. “Two years ago,” Mark murmurs, pausing to look down at his fingers that are interlocked with Jackson’s. “Remember what you said to me when I left?”

“Goodbye?”

“Yeah. Then you said ‘I love you’ and I said it back, because we’re friends, right?” Mark continues, suddenly losing track of what he wanted to say. “I mean… we’re friends. And I love you, I really do.”

“I know,” Jackson replies. “Are you trying to say that friends don’t kiss?”

“I don’t know what I’m saying.” Mark watches as Jackson pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue, contemplating this encounter. Mark wishes he could say something that would make sense.

Mark’s heart is still hammering harshly against his chest. He doesn’t regret that kiss. He’s thought about it, in all honesty.

Whenever Jackson gave him that look — the look Mark still can’t explain — Mark wanted to explore it further, wondering what would happen if he just kissed him. He didn’t let himself think about it much, because Jackson is his _friend_ , and it’s inappropriate to even want to go there with him.

“I don’t think we can be friends anymore,” Jackson breaks the silence to say.

Mark tenses up, wanting to take his hands out of Jackson’s grasp, but Jackson only holds him tighter.

“If friends don’t kiss, let’s not be friends anymore,” Jackson says once more.

“What?”

He lets go of Mark’s hands and grabs Mark by the shoulders instead, manoeuvring himself so that they’re sitting face-to-face. “I want to kiss you,” Jackson confesses as Mark stares back at him, dumbfounded. “If you think it’s weird to kiss as friends, let’s stop being friends.”

Mark gapes at him for a bit, letting his words sink in. “You… want to kiss me?”

“Do you want to kiss me?” Jackson asks back.

Mark searches Jackson’s eyes for any hint of hesitation, but when he finds none, he nods. He cups the sides of Jackson’s face in his hands, savouring the feeling of treading into foreign territory. “Can I?” Mark whispers.

They meet in the middle, and Mark can smell the faint scent of alcohol lingering on Jackson’s breath. He feels Jackson’s nose brush against his cheek as they find their angles after their eyes flutter close. Jackson’s lips are plush against Mark’s slightly chapped ones. Mark tilts his head back, allowing Jackson to take control.

It’s different, kissing Jackson. Maybe because it’s _Jackson_ , and not anyone else. Jackson.

Jackson’s hands find their way into Mark’s hair, and Mark can’t help but moan a little when Jackson tugs at it with a small amount of force. That effectively gives Jackson the opportunity to deepen the kiss.

Mark slips a hand under Jackson’s shirt, wanting to explore the skin underneath with his fingertips. He traces up towards Jackson’s chest, and Jackson takes in a sharp intake of breath when Mark’s fingers brush over a nipple.

“Fuck, it’s cold,” Jackson hisses, and he moves his lips down Mark’s neck now. He still has his fingers tangled in Mark’s hair. Jackson gently nibbles on the sensitive skin there, causing Mark to squirm from the ticklishness.

Mark steadies himself by resting both his hands on Jackson’s chest, writhing as Jackson proceeds to suck at the skin, attempting to leave a mark. “Jackson,” Mark whimpers when he feels a sting, but he lets Jackson continue.

When Jackson is done, Mark opens his eyes to see him admiring his handiwork. “It looks good,” Jackson compliments with a smirk, tracing a finger across the reddish bruise forming just slightly above Mark’s collarbone.

Jackson’s fingers drum against the hickey before he pushes Mark down onto the bed, climbing up on top of him after in one swift motion. Jackson sits himself on Mark’s legs, looking down at him like he’s admiring art.

Mark wonders what took them so long to get here.

“This is the end of our friendship,” Jackson announces.

Mark takes in a deep breath. “This is the end of our friendship,” he repeats.

Jackson leans down to claim Mark’s lips once more, and Mark shudders when he feels Jackson trailing his fingers up his thighs, his hand coming to a halt when it reaches the crotch of Mark’s sweatpants.

Mark wants Jackson to touch him. No more games. “Just touch me,” he says, surprising himself with how desperate he sounds. Jackson doesn’t seem to mind, though. When Jackson only smirks in response without making any action, Mark bites down on on his bottom lip with a moderate amount of force.

“Ouch, fuck,” Jackson hisses.

“Touch me.”

Jackson obliges, his hand cupping the growing bulge in Mark’s pants as he nibbles a trail of skin down Mark’s neck. “This okay?” he whispers, and his breath is hot against Mark’s neck.

Mark is hyperaware of his surroundings as his eyes are shut tight, and he hums in reply.

Jackson fucks him hard against the mattress that night, but only because he asked for it to be hard, no, _harder_. When they lay next to each other, spent, Mark turns to plant a deep kiss onto Jackson’s lips, wanting to savour this moment forever.

Their legs are tangled together beneath the covers, and Mark doesn’t ever want to leave Jackson’s embrace. He doesn’t think that he’ll ever be this happy to lose a friend.

* * *

Jackson releases a surprise Korean single in late-August. It’s a contemporary love song, a mix of R&B and pop genres. He doesn’t tell Mark about it, and Mark only finds out about the song when he hears it on the television two days later.

Mark is lying on the sofa with Coco curled up on his abdomen, absentmindedly watching an entertainment show. The presenter starts gushing over Jackson’s new song, emphasising on how unexpected it was for Jackson to drop something à la Beyoncé. They then play the music video, and the first scene follows Jackson as he lip-syncs, lying on a leather armchair in the middle of a dimly-lit set.

Mark recognises the familiar tune, a song that he composed together with Jackson late one night in bed two weeks ago, and he turns his head to gape at the area towards the kitchen. He moves so quickly that he thinks he might have snapped his neck in half. “Jackson?” he calls loudly, and Jackson runs into the living area with a handful of popcorn, worried.

“What? What’s happening?” Jackson asks, hurrying next to Mark. He squats down to look at Coco, thinking that something might have happened to her.

Mark still has a wide-eyed expression plastered on his face, and he points towards the television. “What did you do, Jackson?”

The song was a work in progress. They worked on it in Jackson’s home studio, making a rough demo of the melody. Mark drafted out a little bit of the lyrics he was going to refine at a later date. The lyrics in the finished product playing on TV has Mark’s lyrics in the chorus, but the other parts that Mark didn’t have the chance to work on are definitely Jackson’s doing.

“What’s its name?” Mark wonders out loud.

“‘Mark My Words’.”

“What?”

Jackson repeats himself. “‘Mark My Words’.”

Mark bursts out laughing. “You don’t say any of those words once in the entire song.” The music video fades to black at the end of the song, and the numbers 0409 appear in white font against the background. “0409?”

“I say ‘mark my words’ in the first verse,” Jackson insists. “And before the music video ended I said, ‘Mark, mark my words.’”

“Wait, you said ‘Mark’?”

Jackson shrugs. “What? The song’s for you. You’re credited as the sole producer and lyricist.”

It then dawns on Mark that ‘0409’ refers to the 4th of September, his 30th birthday that’s coming up in a week. Jackson released their song for his birthday. It’s not the first song Mark made that’s been released, but it’s the first song that he’s composed together with Jackson out for public consumption.

Like Jaebum’s Defsoul pseudonym (although it’s generally known that Def is Jaebum), Mark picked his own pseudonym of MYET. It’s nothing flashy, just his initials. No one would be able to put two-and-two together that he’s behind those songs because there isn’t anything that truly gives clues to his identity.

Jackson is beaming, pulling up the records for Mark to see. “I wanted you to find out for yourself,” he says, handing Mark his phone. “Pull up the music video in the gallery, I have some producer’s cuts and extra scenes for you.”

Mark picks Coco up and puts her onto the ground, and she sniffs at Jackson’s feet before wagging her tail and padding off. “This is intellectual theft, you know, even if you did credit me.”

“I am innocent in the eyes of the law.”

Mark grins, wrapping his arms around Jackson’s waist to pull him closer. “Jack,” he drawls. “The song is amazing, I love it.”

Jackson looks down at him with a puzzled expression. “Mark, you barely heard any of it.”

“Hey, I’m credited as the producer,” Mark snaps. “I know that the song’s amazing. It has my name tacked on it.”

Jackson pries Mark’s hands off of him so he can take a seat on the sofa. He pats his lap, wordlessly telling Mark to either lay his head on it or to sit on his legs. “Quick, watch the videos, I think that my acting has gotten a whole lot better now.”

Mark rolls his eyes, giving Jackson a peck on the edge of his lips. “You’re such an idiot. Thank you.”

—

Jackson throws Mark a small birthday party at his (their, at this point) house a week after their song release, inviting some friends over for dinner and drinks after. Jackson is ambitious as ever, boasting that he will cook the dinner himself, telling Mark that he can spend the entire day in the bath if he wants to.

“I wrote you a letter, by the way,” Jackson announces as he massages the chicken with marinade for a roast. “It’s on the dressing table. I hand wrote every word. It’s actually quite sappy, and I’m a little bit embarrassed about it, which is probably why I can’t stop talking right now.”

Mark giggles, holding Jackson’s face in his hands and pinching his cheeks lightly. “I’ll read it later tonight, Jinyoung just texted me that he’s here.”

“But it’s only 1 in the afternoon! I specifically told him 7.” Jackson wipes his hands on his apron with no regard for hygiene. “And if he’s here to pull a smart ass move of buying pre-cooked food, I’m going to—”

Jackson is interrupted by Jinyoung walking in with two bags in his hands. “I can’t believe you still have our dorm’s combination as your passcode,” Jinyoung says as a greeting, setting down the bags on the kitchen counter. “Also, I brought food in case your big plan falls flat.”

Mark attempts to stifle his laughter, walking over to rest his elbow on Jinyoung’s shoulder.

Jinyoung smirks. “So, anyone have anything to say? About this?” He looks between Mark and Jackson. “Anyone?”

Jackson digs through the plastic bags on the counter, pulling out two rotisserie chickens, some buns and pies. “What do you want us to say?” Jackson asks, feigning innocence.

“Oh, I don’t know… Maybe that you’re both liars?”

Mark steps back. “Excuse me?”

“Yeah, the two of you have been skirting around each other for _years_ ,” Jinyoung retorts, gesturing wildly with his hands. “How long has this been going on for? What made you finally lower your resolves?”

Jackson points at Jinyoung threateningly with a wooden spatula. “How did you find out?”

“Oh, I don’t know, Jackson Wang, maybe through your back-to-back songs declaring your love for Mark Tuan?”

Mark glances over at Jackson, who looks back at him with an expression of concern. Mark doesn’t know what to think. He’s glad that he doesn’t have to come out and spell it out for Jinyoung. He’s still unsure about the whole ‘announcing their relationship’ thing.

And now he can definitely continue touching Jackson without worrying about people finding it unconventional for a platonic friendship.

It’s oddly refreshing.

“New year’s,” Mark answers, walking over to Jackson to comb Jackson’s fringe away from his eyes. “We were going to tell you… but it’s… not easy to say.”

Jackson’s facial features soften as he gives Mark a small smile before moving over to the sink to wash his hands.

“I’ve had my suspicions,” Jinyoung admits, taking a seat on the stool at the counter. He rests both his arms on the surface, looking very serious. “Firstly, I’m happy for you two. Really. I’m really happy. Secondly, who else knew? Like, before me.”

Mark gives Jinyoung a pointed look, already guessing where this is going.

“Bambam?” Jinyoung asks, glaring at Jackson.

The rivalry of who reigns supreme in Jackson’s list of friends continues on to this day, mostly because Jinyoung still holds the same grudge over Jackson for buying Bambam dinner one too many times. Mark has never really bothered with that petty competition, because Jackson and him were just like _that_. They were close friends even before all of _this_ but the number of times they hung out together in the past were not of importance.

Mark thinks that their friendship thrives on mutual understanding, so he never felt threatened whenever Jackson spent more time with other people. They were still close friends at the end of the day.

Jinyoung, however, always seems to enjoy framing Jackson for favouritism.

“Bambam doesn’t know,” Jackson assures him, drying his hands with a kitchen towel. “Nobody knows. At least, we haven’t told anybody.”

“Um, I think Jaebum knows,” Mark interjects. “Jaebum called the day after you dropped ‘Mark My Words’ to talk about it, and I have a feeling he knows.”

Jinyoung crosses his arms. “Wow. So does Yugyeom know? Youngjae?”

Mark shrugs.

“If Yugyeom found out before me, I’m going to kill myself, I swear.”

Mark feels Jackson’s fingers around his upper arm, just holding him as a form of emotional support. “This is why you’re an actor, Jinyoung,” Jackson comments, opening his eyes wider to exaggerate his expression with a huge grin. “You have a flair for the dramatics, Actor Park.”

Jinyoung reaches over the counter, trying to slap Jackson with an oven mitt. “Fuck,” he curses when he fails to reach Jackson. “Just cook your stupid dinner!”

Mark is amused, but he feels responsible to break the argument up. “Let’s just leave him alone,” Mark suggests, giving Jackson one last look of understanding before motioning to guide Jinyoung towards the living area. “I have a couple of demos I think we can work on together, Jinyoung.”

“If it’s another ‘Mark My Words’, I’ll pass. That was too loved up and cheesy.”

—

Jaebum doesn’t bring up Mark and Jackson’s relationship as anything new to him. He isn’t even mildly surprised when Jackson gives Mark a wet, sloppy kiss on the cheek after he gives a toast for the night. He only smiles that fond smile of his, lowering his head after to hide the fact that he’s a man with a lot of feelings.

“I really love the song,” Jaebum comments after Jackson runs off to entertain some other friends, leaving Mark seated next to Jaebum with a glass of scotch in his hands. “The one you produced for Jackson. It’s really good.”

“We actually composed it together,” Mark admits, sipping from his glass. “But Jackson didn’t register himself for the credits.”

Jaebum traces along the edge of his champagne flute, looking contemplative. “Have you officially moved in here yet? Youngjae says that Coco has never even set paw in your apartment.”

“I’ve brought Coco to my place before!”

Jaebum laughs. “So you’re going to sell your place, then?”

“We haven’t talked about it,” Mark replies, shrugging after. “We’re crossing each bridge as we come to it. I don’t think we’ve truly told anyone about us yet.”

“What’s there to say?”

Mark looks at Jaebum, slightly confused. “People will find out,” Mark pauses, waiting for Jaebum to interrupt him but the latter never does. “You know, because they talk. They ask questions. They might be nasty. We have to answer them.”

“You’re happy with Jackson, and Jackson’s happy with you,” Jaebum says, his expression soft and sincere. “I don’t think there’s much you need to say. Everyone should be able to tell.”

Mark doesn’t respond verbally, and looks up through his fringe to meet Jaebum’s eyes. He’s worried, to say the least. He’s unsure how some of his friends might respond. He’s especially anxious about how the _public_ will react to this piece of news.

Jackson is still a person of relevance. News that he’s in a relationship with not only a man, but his _ex-bandmate_ , will definitely tarnish his reputation.

Will this ruin Jackson’s career? Create a divide between them and their friends?

Jaebum seems to catch wind of Mark’s internal monologue as he reaches over to pat Mark’s free hand that’s rested on his thigh. “Don’t think about it too much,” Jaebum advises. “Have you ever heard of that saying? ‘Those who matter don’t mind, those who mind don’t matter.’ You’re both like my real brothers. I’ll protect you with my life.”

Mark stares at the last bit of scotch in his glass, processing Jaebum’s words. It’s moments like this that make it clear why Jaebum was chosen to lead their group back when they were working together. He’s sensible, mature, and he always knows what to say, and when to say it.

Before Mark can open his mouth to thank Jaebum for his thoughtful words, Youngjae jogs over with Coco in his arms. “Mark- _hyung_!” Youngjae says, smirking. “I didn’t get to talk to you yet.”

“Don’t say anything stupid, Youngjae,” Jaebum warns.

“I’m not going to say anything stupid, Mr. Grumpy,” Youngjae snaps. “I just want to know if Coco’s seen anything she shouldn’t have when she was here. Has she, Mark- _hyung_?”

Mark rolls his eyes, waving Youngjae away with the glass in his hands.

“I’m just joking,” Youngjae whines, putting Coco down into Jaebum’s lap. “Anyway, Jackson- _hyung_ has already told me all I need to know.”

—

Yugyeom was back in Namyangju during the night of Mark’s party while Bambam was absent because he was in Bangkok, so the two of them invite Mark and Jackson to dinner a few days after Mark’s birthday. Yugyeom offers to treat them to dinner at the new branch of a restaurant he’s opening the day after.

The restaurant specialises in fusion food of Korean and French cuisine, and the branch in Apgujeong will be his second branch so far, with a few more scheduled to open following it. The first restaurant received rave reviews since its grand opening last year and continues to be a hot spot for the young and rich, but Mark has yet to visit.

Jackson drives them in his car, a new Lamborghini that he’s been meaning to splurge on for years now. They meet Yugyeom who is already there directing the chefs, adamant on making the first dishes served onto the floor perfect to not jinx his opening in a few days.

“Wow, look who decided to drop in!” Yugyeom shouts, happily padding over to give Mark a big hug. It still surprises Mark how big Yugyeom is for someone who’s supposed to be younger than him. “Happy belated birthday, _hyung_!”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Jackson gasps, prying Mark away from Yugyeom. “He’s going to snap in half, Gyeom.”

Yugyeom steps back, confused, as Jackson pulls Mark into his arms. “Is this what Jinyoung- _hyung_ was trying to tell me about?” he muses, squinting at the two men. “Okay, lay it on me. I’m ready.”

“Jinyoung said something?” Mark asks, rolling his eyes.

Jinyoung might pretend to hate Yugyeom (and vice versa), but Yugyeom hearing news from Jinyoung is evidence that they talk more often than they let on.

Jackson clears his throat, brushing off the sleeves of Mark’s sweater. “And what did the almighty Park Jinyoung say?”

Yugyeom gestures between the two of them with his index finger. “He just said you’d be acting weird,” he supplies, looking behind him to check if any of his staff are looking their way. No one is paying any attention to them. “I’ve had a gut feeling for awhile, but are you _together_?”

Mark senses the way Yugyeom’s voice drops lower when he asks his question, and he gives Jackson a look to ask if they should mess with Yugyeom.

Jackson nods.

“What?” Mark exclaims, pretending to burst out into uncontrollable laughter. “What did you say?”

Jackson follows suit, holding Mark up as he doubles over in his act. “Together?”

“Oh my,” Yugyeom mutters, embarrassed. “Is that not what this is about? I’m so sorry I assumed, I mean… I thought… You know…”

Jackson pats Mark on the back to let him know that they should stop their act, and they return to their default expressions within a second, surprising Yugyeom once more. “Yeah, we’re together,” Jackson states without missing a beat. “Together as in we’re living together, being together, doing things together.”

The way Yugyeom’s jaw drops doesn’t slip past Mark’s attention, and it makes Mark chuckle because Yugyeom is at a loss for words. It’s written all across his face.

When the initial shock finally wears off, Yugyeom envelops the both of them in a tight bear hug. “Oh my God,” he cries, at the brink of tears. “I’m so happy for you. Jackson- _hyung_! Mark- _hyung_! My favourite brothers. I’m so happy!”

Yugyeom jumps up and down, and he doesn’t let them go until Bambam arrives, fashionably late as always. “What did I miss?” Bambam asks, raising an eyebrow in question.

“Our favourite brothers are together!” Yugyeom yells at him, clasping his hands together in glee. He pauses. “Wait, is it okay for me to shout this loud?” he turns to whisper into Mark’s ear.

“Yes,” Mark deadpans. “It’s okay.” Mark turns to his side to see if Jackson’s looking at him, and sure enough, he is.

Jackson is nodding, probably at Yugyeom’s question. He reaches over to run his fingers through Mark’s hair.

Nobody pays any heed to Bambam until he screams. He shrieks so loudly as he runs towards their direction, his arms opened wide and ready to squeeze everyone’s breaths out of their lungs. “Oh my God!” Bambam screeches, wrapping Mark into the third hug of the night. “Finally!”

“Right?” Yugyeom shouts back, wriggling his way out of Bambam’s grasp. It’s not difficult because Bambam maintained his thin frame over the years. “I knew going to church would pay off someday.”

Yugyeom only allows them to eat after they share an abridged story of how they somehow fell for each other. He claims that he’s always seen potential in Mark and Jackson’s relationship progressing further than friends, but he didn’t think that it would actually happen in this lifetime.

Bambam admits that he heard rumours that Jackson’s new song was written with Mark in mind, but he was only planning to ask about it the next time they met, being now. “So it’s really for Mark- _hyung_ , huh?”

Jackson slips his hand onto Mark’s and holds it on the table. Jackson’s eyes are practically shining under the lights of the large chandelier overhead. “Yeah,” Jackson breathes out, all the while looking at Mark.

Bambam makes retching noises from opposite the table, but Mark promptly ignores him.

“They’re perfect for each other, aren’t they?” Yugyeom sighs in contentment.

Mark wants to agree but it’d be narcissistic of him. But as he looks at Jackson, all crinkly eyes with a light, high-pitched laugh, he thinks that it’s true. Jackson is definitely his person.

* * *

Their relationship remains a secret (or open secret, depending on who you talk to) to the general public for the next two weeks following Mark’s 30th birthday. Mark doesn’t worry about it blowing out of proportion anymore, because Jackson is there to remind him that it’ll be alright.

Jackson’s stance is that their love will triumph any and every source of negativity thrown their way. He tells Mark that nothing will ever come between them every day, and Mark believes him every time he says so.

It’s amazing how Jackson just seems to _know_ what Mark is thinking sometimes. As a person who resides towards the extreme end of the introversion spectrum, Mark is generally silent most of the time. Jackson, however, can differentiate between Mark’s normal silences and his thoughtful silences.

Whenever Mark slips into one of those cycles where he just starts thinking too much, Jackson is there to snap him out of it with warm lips just below his temple, whispering sweet nothings into his ear.

As Jackson sleeps soundly laying on Mark’s arm, tucked in tightly under the covers, Mark presses a light kiss onto his forehead.

Jackson is his best friend, his companion, and someone he knows he wants to spend the rest of his life with.

Even if they did agree to not be ‘friends’ anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> my disbandment timeline is [here](http://maenjeongsin.tumblr.com/private/164460092173/tumblr_ov240oJHt71qbvvto) if you can’t visualise the months/years.  
> this is in no way a representation of what i think they’re like in real life, neither is it how i expect got7 to end.  
> inspired by got7’s song [prove it](https://colorcodedlyrics.com/2016/09/got7-prove-it) and [this 1d fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2076498).  
> this idea has been marinating in my brain for awhile now. i hope you like it!
> 
> [twitter](http://twitter.com/jiaerwang) || [tumblr](http://maenjeongsin.tumblr.com)


End file.
